Harry Potter and the Fortress of Shadows
by la z boy
Summary: Harry and Hermione's efforts to find The Brotherhood of the Black Serpent lead them on a quest to uncover the mysterious Fortress of Shadows.  But that requires them facing off against a sinister Dark Witch with a dangerous motivation.  HHr.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I know it's later than I initially promised, but I've finally started writing "Harry Potter and the Fortress of Shadows". I just wanted to make sure the story was as great as it could be, and I'm fully satisfied with how it turned out. I had this opening in mind from the start, so I knew I needed a plot that was just as strong.**

**If you haven't read my first installment, "Harry Potter and the Book of Merlin", I'd suggest you do so before reading this.**

**So, without further ado, I give you "Fortress of Shadows".**

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_**PROLOGUE**_

Neither the conductor of the prisoner transport train, nor any of the guards posted outside each compartment noticed the four black-clad figures emerge from underneath the raised tracks.

Of course they wouldn't, seeing as the appearance of the mysterious figures blended in perfectly with the dark night sky and they navigated their broomsticks so swiftly, that noise wasn't an issue at all. Even if the whooshing of the broomsticks pierced the still air, the sound would have been masked by the train's howling whistle and the chugging of its engines.

The four disguised figures were able to keep pace with minimal effort. Eventually, their speed became so great that they were able to pass the first three compartments. Once the figures were beside the fourth from the back compartment, two of them broke away from their partners. They glided and swirled over the top of the train until they reached the opposite side and sped up towards the conductor's area.

Still, no one took notice.

* * *

No one, that is, except for Ron Weasley, who was seated inside the fourth compartment along with a variety of other Azkaban inmates. Ron had his unshaven and scraggly face pressed lightly against the glass window, his breath causing small steam blots to form there. He peered out through hair that reached down slightly over his eyes, on the verge of falling asleep. Although it wouldn't be a particularly comfortable sleep, because his hands and feet were linked together by chains that connected him with the husky prisoner sitting beside him. Like all the rest, Ron was wearing a black and white-striped jumpsuit that had a four-digit serial number stitched on the left shoulder.

Ron was just about to shut his eyes completely when he saw the masses of black momentarily obstruct his view of the moonlit country landscape. The sudden movement made him more alert, and Ron straightened up to try and see what was happening.

* * *

Up ahead, the train's conductor was fully awake and keeping a keen eye on the path ahead. He reached for the mug of coffee that was sustaining his alertness, picked it up and took a long gulp before he felt something small but stiff press against the base of his neck.

"Don't turn around," ordered a gruff voice in the conductor's ear that seemed muffled by perhaps a mask. "Stop the train. Now." The voice was calm, completely devoid of any aggression.

The conductor tightened his grip on the mug out of nervousness. "But –…"

The pressure on the conductor's back, which must have been a wand tip, became more pronounced. "Do it."

Not wanting to get hurt, the conductor obliged by reaching up to grab the brake handle, and pulled.

* * *

Ron's compartment was abruptly rocked violently by the force of the braking system. Whereas the compartment had seconds before been silent with slumbering criminals, it was now filled with the screech of the brakes and the confused and angered shouts of the other prisoners.

A burst of red light outside the front compartment door caught Ron's attention next. He could make out a figure slumping against it through the door's square window and seconds later, the door was kicked in. Framed in the doorway were two people wearing all black, their faces entirely hidden by masks, save for eyeholes.

The other prisoners were still making indiscernible noises, so the figure on the left raised a wand and cast a spell that caused all of the windows in the compartment to shatter.

Ron, like the others, ducked his head down into his lap and covered it with his arms to protect himself from the shards. Ron cautiously raised his head up as the compartment became dead silent again. He saw that the two figures were making their way down the aisle at a rushed pace.

One of the prisoners, quick as a flash, put himself in the way, puffing out his chest. "Hey!" he said in what sounded like the toughest voice he could muster. "The bloody hell do you think you're -…"

He was cut off by the first figure delivering such a powerful elbow blow to his cheek, the prisoner went sprawling back into his seat. With the temporary hindrance out of the way, the two figures continued their progression.

Ron's eyes widened slightly when the intruders stopped beside his pair of seats.

"Get up." The voice was somewhat distorted by the mask, but the threatening tone wasn't lost.

The prisoner beside Ron immediately got to his feet, but was forced back down by a forceful hand on his shoulder.

"I mean _you_, Ron Weasley."

Ron shared an uncertain glance with his seatmate before he slowly rose.

The first figure pointed his wand at Ron, which made Ron flinch, but the jet of light that emanated from the wand instead wrapped around Ron's restraints and undid them instantly. The metal cuffs clanged to the floor.

A bang at the other end of the compartment diverted Ron's gaze so he could see the second figure swiftly aim a wand of their own at the charging guard.

"_STUPEFY!_"

The force of the spell propelled the guard into the ceiling and back on the ground, where he lay motionless.

Two cracking sounds announced the arrival of two more disguised figures. Every prisoner was in too much of a stunned state to do anything but stare.

"Let's go!"

The first figure grabbed Ron by his shirt and hauled him to the open front door, his three associates right behind them.

Once outside, Ron was shoved onto a broomstick by the first figure while he and the others mounted other broomsticks. The first figure got on in front of Ron, the two of them sharing the same broomstick.

Before Ron knew it, they were in the air, leaving the still-stalled train behind them as the wind whipped at them. They flew for a while until they touched down an isolated grassy area where there was no sign of civilization in sight.

Ron and the four mysterious individuals dismounted their brooms. Rubbing at the red and sore skin on his wrists where the cuffs had just been, Ron gazed around and whistled. The masked people still had their backs to him.

"So," Ron finally said, "who do I have to thank for…"

Ron trailed off in shock and stood there in genuine surprise as the figures all removed their masks and turned as one, their wands lighting their now visible faces. Ron's mouth dropped when the first figure produced a pair of glasses from his pocket and slipped them onto his face.

Harry stood beside Hermione, both of them wearing serious expressions. Ian and Ann were on their partners' sides.

Harry arched an eyebrow and shrugged his right shoulder and said in a simple tone, "Looks like we're working together."


	2. The Magical Artifact Recovery Division

**_A/N: Okay, I WAS planning on uploading this last Saturday, but something happened to my computer the week before, and I had to finish off the chapter this week. The plan for this story is to have a new chapter every Saturday, but seeing as I was thrown off, I'll try to have Chapter 2 AND 3 up by next week; maybe even get Ch. 2 up before next Saturday. We'll see._**

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CHAPTER ONE

_**THE MAGICAL ARTIFACT RECOVERY DIVISION**_

_**Five days earlier – December 18**__**th,**__** 12:00 a.m.**_

George Benfield's heartbeat quickened in pace with every level the lift passed on its way down. Sweat perspired underneath his gray mop of hair and glided down his face as Benfield observed the progress of the dial. Finally, the dial stopped in the small bit of space under the "1", indicating that Benfield had just arrived at a level of the Ministry of Magic that wasn't readily known by the majority of its employees. With a high-pitched ding, the iron grille moved aside to offer a clear path to what lay beyond. Benfield raised a slightly shaking hand to where a brass key was inserted into a hole and removed it. He replaced it on a key ring.

Benfield then took a deep breath and stepped out of the lift.

George Benfield was a Recoverable working for The Magical Artifact Recovery Division inside the Ministry of Magic. The job of a Recoverable was to go out around the world and hunt down various magical artifacts that posed a potential threat to both the wizard and Muggle communities. They were authorized to then use whatever means necessary to recover the artifacts from whatever force currently possessed them. Bottom line, they were the "Indiana Jones" figures of the Ministry, and George Benfield had been one of the best Recoverables there was.

The area in front of and around Benfield had no windows, seeing as how it was underground, and yet, the brick walls glimmered in a midnight blue that nearly signified the time of day it was. Benfield walked at a normal pace through the arched passageway, trying his best to look as calm as was possible. With great concentration, he steadied his breathing as he approached the single desk at the end of the passageway that guarded a wall-length, curved door.

A male guard with bushy hair and a week's worth of whiskers on his face and wearing Navy blue robes sat behind the desk with his feet propped up on the edge while he scanned through the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. On the front of the desk hung a medium-sized Christmas wreath adorned with red ribbons and bells. It was the only indication inside this unremarkable space of what time of year it was.

When Benfield reached the desk, the guard looked up from his newspaper and gave Benfield a mildly confused look. He glanced down at his watch.

"Mr. Benfield. It's quite late for anyone to come down here-"

"Relax, Marty," said Benfield in the most confident voice he could muster. "Anderson has requested that I perform a last-minute inventory before I go on holiday."

Of course, knew Benfield, Anderson, the head of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division, had requested no such thing.

Marty, the guard, straightened up and cleared his throat while he picked up a clipboard. He consulted the papers on it, raising up the first sheet and read the text on the second.

"There's no record of any inventory scheduled for-"

"Like I said," Benfield continued hurriedly, "it's last minute." Benfield stuffed his hand inside his pocket and produced a ring with a set of jangling keys. "Come on, the sooner you let me pass, the sooner I can get this over with."

Marty contemplatively stared from Benfield's face to the key ring. Finally, he sighed and slid back a hidden door on top of his desk that revealed a small button. "In an effort to keep the Christmas spirit in the air, I won't ask any further questions."

Marty pressed down on the button, which caused a piece of the wall beside the massive door to slide to the right and unveil a secret keyhole.

"Merry Christmas," said Marty. "And tell Monica hello."

"I will," Benfield forced out as he found the proper key and stepped forward. He inserted the key into the lock and turned. There was a dull clicking sound from behind the giant door before the door open of its own accord.

Just then, Benfield heard a grunt accompanied by a swipe and whirled around to see a knife protruding from Marty's chest.

Marty regarded the knife with confusion before he took three deep breaths and hauled himself out of his chair, wand at the ready, only to be thrown backward into the wall by a flash of green light. Marty was dead before his body hit the floor.

Benfield drew his own wand, but was met with the sight of a beautiful witch with curly black hair and a long-sleeve dress that perfectly accentuated her curves leveling her own wand right at him. Benfield reluctantly let his arm fall to his side.

"Why did you kill him?" Benfield asked sharply.

"Because he was a witness." The witch spoke in a smooth, seductive French accent that was disturbingly calm. "And because I felt you needed a reminder not to try anything stupid."

"Mrs.-"

"I prefer to be called by my first name," the witch cut in coldly, "given my situation."

"Very well," Benfield grunted through gritted teeth. "_Selena_…I agreed to give you what you want. I have no reason to go against you, because by doing so, I'd be killing my own wife."

"I always like to be extra careful," Selena responded simply. "Now go."

Selena disappeared back under her Invisibility Charm, which made Benfield begrudgingly turn around, extract the key from the lock, and step through the open door.

What lay on the other side of the door was another antechamber. Like the first, this one was illuminated in that same blue light, but there was more than one guard posted. It was the entrance to the vault of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. Here was where every magical artifact recovered by agents of the division was kept in storage, partly for observation and study of their capabilities and partly to keep the more dangerous ones away from civilization. Only a select few were permitted access to the vault, and George Benfield was one of them.

Four muscular, black-suited men with buzz cuts and stoic faces stood in front of yet another large door, two on either side. When the four guards caught sight of Benfield, they all snapped their hands up to the wands secured to their hips, but Benfield waved his hand to signal their caution wasn't necessary.

"It's me, gentlemen," he said. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder once he was in close proximity to the guards.

"Never hurts to be cautious," the first guard on the door's right side replied. "Entering the vault tonight, are we?" After the guard saw Benfield begin to search through the keyring, he added, "You know the drill."

Benfield nodded, disconnected two gold keys from the ring and handed both to the guard. He stuffed the keyring back into the pocket of his robes with his right hand while extracting a small knife from his other pocket with his left. With complete calm, Benfield lifted the tip of the knife to his right thumb and applied just enough pressure to break the skin and let loose a small stream of blood.

The guard instantly held out both keys, and Benfield rubbed his bleeding thumb over the keys, covering every inch of them that wasn't the handle in it. One of the guards from the left side came over and took one of the keys by its handle. Then, he went back to his position as the other guard did the same.

Both guards faced keyholes that had been carved into the wall and each held their respective key suspended in front of the hole. During this pause, Benfield closed the small wound on his thumb using his wand.

The guards inserted the bloody keys into the holes and turned them simultaneously. Just like with the first door, there came the dull, muffled sound of locks being undone from the other side, but the vault door took longer than the other one to open, seeing as it provided entry to a more sensitive area. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the large iron door swung forward.

The sight beyond the threshold was one of a vast chamber dimly lit by flickering flames in iron holders suspended from the ceiling. The vault was divided into separate corridors between evenly spaced shelves that appeared to stretch all the way up to the ceiling as well. Leaning against the end of each shelf were ladders big enough to allow any person who climbed them to reach whatever level of the shelves they desired. The ladders were constructed out of weathered wood that made them look rickety, but Benfield knew that they were as stable as could be.

"So why are you down here so late?" asked the first guard from the right.

"Anderson requested I bring up a few artifacts for some secondary observations," Benfield lied. "I won't be long."

Benfield replaced the knife back in his pocket and took a few steps toward the open vault, when a sudden outcry halted him in his tracks.

"NO! DON'T LET HIM IN!"

Benfield whipped his head around to see one of his fellow Recoverables, Harris, racing toward them, wand held in front of him.

"HE'S UNDER DURESS!"

Benfield cursed under his breath. Harris must've overheard his conversation with Selena up in the office hours ago and waited everything out, just like Selena, so he could follow them and stop Benfield before he could give Selena what she wanted. Unfortunately, seeing as Selena had two of her men with Benfield's wife at the moment, Benfield couldn't afford any setbacks.

He desperately charged forward, but was blocked by two of the guards shoving their shoulders into his chest. With his right hand, Benfield struggled to get to his wand again, but all of his focus shifted when a flash of red light briefly illuminated both of the guards' faces.

Benfield and the two guards abandoned their struggle to see what was going on with Harris.

Harris was falling facedown to the ground, but he managed to utter an incantation along the way, and a jet of gold light burst out of his wand, but was deflected by something and it went colliding into the blue brick wall. A handful of bricks were knocked free as a result.

Just then, Selena reappeared out of thin air, but this time, she was accompanied by four black-clad men wearing silver snake masks. The masks were an indicator that they were all members of The Brotherhood of the Black Serpent.

Selena, her face still expressionless, uttered, "_Avada Kedavra_," and seconds later, Harris was sent twirling through midair until his lifeless body impacted against the ground with a loud echo.

After that, the guards leapt into action. They all fired Stunning Spells at Selena and her group, but all it took was Selena casually raising her wand while never turning to block the spells with a shimmering blue shield, which evaporated after the danger had passed. Only then did Selena turn around to face the guards.

She surveyed them with amused eyes that also gave off a seductive quality. "Benfield," she said in a tone like that of a mother wishing her child good night, "get down."

Benfield acquiesced, but only just in time. In a nearly invisible flash of movement, Selena raised her wand and sliced it in a straight line through the air, right to left. All four guards slumped to the floor once she was done, and Benfield glanced over to see that the throats of the two on his left had been cut open and were bleeding freely. The same was true for the two on his right.

Slowly, Benfield rose to his feet and regarded Selena with a shocked look. As he did, Selena's men roughly brushed past him and entered the vault.

"Don't act so surprised," Selena purred as she grabbed Benfield by the arm and guided him into the vault. "You know perfectly well what I'm capable of and I offer no excuses for it. I have a goal, and you're going to help me achieve it." They had joined her men in the central shelf corridor of the vault. "Now, you're certain the artifacts are where you say they are?"

"Yes," whispered Benfield, the sight of the slashed throats still at the forefront of his mind.

"No form of trickery?"

"If artifacts ever have to be moved, I'm one of the first people to know about it. The ones you want, they are where I say they are."

Selena nodded. "Very well." She inclined her head toward her men. "Only what we came for, gentlemen, and nothing else."

The Brotherhood members dispersed and disappeared behind various shelves, on the hunt for the artifacts their boss desired. Benfield and Selena were now alone.

"I've upheld my end of the bargain," Benfield spat. "Now it's your turn."

Selena smiled a gorgeous smile that Benfield would have found attractive if he was unaware of her true nature. "Of course." She stepped closer to him so that her hips were grinding against his. "But first, allow me to give you a token of my appreciation."

Benfield's eyes took on a look of confusion as Selena wrapped her hand against the back of his head and pulled it closer to hers. With a deliberate style comparable to that of a passionate lover, Selena pressed her lips against Benfield's and opened them so their tongues could mingle with each other. Selena let the kiss go on for a good minute before she broke it off. Benfield was left to stare at her with a mixture of awe and disgust.

"Like my lipstick?" Selena asked silkily. "It's a special concoction of mine. The primary ingredient…is snake venom."

The instant those last words left Selena's mouth, Benfield could feel a painful sensation abruptly take hold of his insides. He sank to his knees, but Selena tilted his chin up so he could still look into her eyes.

"But before you die on me, let me clear something up. I never broke my promise. Your wife _will _remain unharmed once my men and I leave this vault. You, on the other hand…well, I can't have anybody blabbing my identity just yet. So sorry to do this to you so close to the holidays."

Selena noticed that her men had now returned, each carrying artifacts of varying size and shape in their arms, so she walked over to them, thereby letting Benfield fall to the ground as the snake venom finished its job.

Selena glanced over the artifacts her men had gathered until she caught sight of the one she required at the moment: a jewel-encrusted leather belt with a gold buckle. Selena picked up the belt. "Secure the rest," she ordered as she slipped the belt around her waist and tightened the buckle. A dull purple light glimmered around the belt once it was on her.

The Brotherhood members conjured up black bags and stuffed the artifacts into them, tying strings on top to make sure they were closed all the way.

Once that was done, Selena twisted the outer circle on the golden buckle. "Grab onto me, gentlemen. And any wandering hands will soon turn into severed ones."

The Brotherhood members all stepped closer to her and each placed a hand on either Selena's arms or shoulders.

Selena closed her eyes in concentration and a few seconds later, she and her henchmen vanished into thin air without a single sound.

The only thing that was left behind was a trail of carnage that stretched from the lift, all the way into the vault.


	3. Tis The Season

**A/N: Okay, I'm going to try and do my best to get back on track here. I've just been so busy lately. And I know it seems weird to have a Christmas-y chapter on Halloween weekend, but oh well. Here's Chapter 2.**

CHAPTER TWO

'_**TIS THE SEASON**_

_**A few hours earlier…**_

Harry was in hot pursuit of his target, and he wasn't about to let them escape. They had evaded and even gotten the drop on him a few times already, but Harry had managed to regain the upper hand. Although, one thing could certainly be said for his adversary: they certainly knew how to handle a broomstick.

The cold December air pierced at Harry's face, not quite cold enough to cause frostbite, but just chilly enough to make the skin feel raw. The snowfall coming from the dull grey sky was relatively calm, providing a serene setting against the racing broomsticks that zigzagged over the open area outside. Fortunately, the snow wasn't a flurry, so it did nothing to impede the view of Harry and the person in front of him.

The figure in question suddenly broke to the right in a downward arc, and Harry determinedly tightened his mitten-enclosed hands on his broomstick and followed suit. Keeping his eyes trained upon the person, Harry could clearly see where they were headed, and he immediately sped up in an effort to stop them before they reached it. Closer and closer Harry came, closing the distance between him and his opponent in under five seconds until at last, Harry could reach out and wrap his arms around the slender form of the person in front of him. While doing this, Harry had propelled himself forward, and the momentum of the action sent both him and the person tumbling down toward the ground right before they could reach the Quidditch hoop.

Luckily, the snow-covered ground wasn't far below, so Harry and Hermione's laughter wasn't cut off after they had impacted softly with the snow. In fact, their laughter continued as the two of them rolled around as an aftereffect of their minor crash. When they stopped, Hermione was on her back while Harry was propped up on his left side, his arm encircling Hermione as she leaned into his chest.

"Cheater!" Hermione playfully accused as her laughter began to die down. "And I was about to win, too!"

"Hey, I told you," Harry smiled back, "I'm more of a Seeker than a Chaser."

Hermione adjusted the brow of the wool cap sitting atop her head so that she could look at Harry better. "Still making excuses, are we? It's not like it's your fault…well, actually, it is because after all, _you_ were the one who insisted I learn to play Quidditch."

"I know, I know," said Harry exasperatedly. "But at least you were willing to. Although, it seems I've created a monster."

Hermione laughed again. "Harry James Potter, did you just call me a beast?"

"Oh, but I meant it in the most _loving _of ways!"

The fistful of snow that Hermione threw directly into Harry's face at that very moment made Harry release his hold on Hermione and roll to the side. Laughing triumphantly, Hermione got up and ran north, where a two-story brick cottage was sitting atop a small hill.

"That was meant in the most loving of ways, too!" Hermione called over her shoulder as she continued running.

Harry shook the snow out of his face and grinned mischievously. "Oh, no you don't. You're not getting away that easy!" He scooped up a handful of snow of his own and gave chase. Within seconds, Harry had caught up with Hermione and was able to grab her gently around the waist, but firmly enough that he knew she wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Harry! Don't you dare!"

"Sorry, angel, but you shouldn't start something if you can't handle how it ends."

Harry used a small spell to keep Hermione in place while he pulled back the collar of her coat, as well as her shirt underneath.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry," Hermione pleaded. "There's really no need t-ahhhh!"

Her sentence was cut off when Harry dumped the snow down her two layers. The icy feeling slid down Hermione's back, and some of the snow even trickled through her pants.

"Tit for tat!" Harry declared triumphantly as he ran back towards where their brooms and the Quaffle were. Once he reached them, Harry turned around to see what Hermione was doing, only to be lightly tackled to the ground.

"You're going to pay for that!" Hermione's smile betrayed her threat.

Harry gazed up at his girlfriend with puppy dog eyes. "Oh, really?"

Those eyes made Hermione melt inside. "Not fair! You _know _I can't resist that look!" When Harry persisted in his sympathy stare, Hermione sighed in defeat. "Oh, alright! You're off the hook…until tonight." With that, she leaned down and kissed Harry with as much passion as she could muster.

The kiss deepened even more when Harry snaked his arm across Hermione's back and flipped them so that they were in the same position they had been a few minutes earlier. Harry broke off the kiss, leaving the two of them frazzled-looking.

"Well, then," said Harry heavily, "I'm already counting down the hours."

This comment made Hermione smile as bright as the sun, had it been out on this particular day. She glanced over at the Quaffle she had dropped when she and Harry had been falling. "Up for another match?"

Harry brought his watch arm up to read the time, which was currently 5:15 in the evening. "It's getting late," he said. "We should go back inside and start on dinner or something."

Hermione nodded in agreement as Harry helped her to her feet. They then collected their broomsticks and the Quaffle and began trekking through the snow towards the cottage.

The cottage belonged to Marcus Bloom, Harry's handler in the Auror Division, and he had offered to let Harry and Hermione stay there during the first few days of their Christmas vacation while their apartment in London was being updated with the latest defensive spells. It was ordinarily used by Marcus on his own vacations, but as a summer house. The hill the cottage was perched on overlooked a vast expanse of sea and a small beach. But since the season was presently winter, the water was a depressingly pale shade of gray and the temperature of it cold enough that even standing barefoot on the shore wasn't bearable for more than two minutes.

Yet despite the cottage being used in its off season, the interior still provided its inhabitants with a warm and cozy feeling. By now, Harry and Hermione had become accustomed to the way the cottage was set up. So after they stepped inside, they paid no attention to the half living room, half kitchen that composed almost the entire area of the downstairs level and was divided by a sitting bar in the kitchen. A staircase built over the closer end of the bar led to the second level, which was made up of two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was the kind of place to go in order to get away from the routines of everyday life and just relax. And that was precisely the reason Harry and Hermione had taken Marcus up on his offer.

Harry and Hermione made their way into the living room area, which they had took the liberty of decorating for the holidays while they were here. Christmas lights were strung along the tops of the walls and a medium-sized and fully decorated Christmas tree was placed in the left corner of the room. Elsewhere, things like miniature Santa statues and nutcrackers occupied smooth surfaces such as tables.

Harry and Hermione sat on the couch in front of the roaring fireplace; the piece of furniture was flanked on either side by a plush armchair and a wooden rocking one. The couple removed their gloves and held them out before the flames, letting the heat restore feeling in their fingers.

"Marcus really does have a nice set up here," said Harry as he and Hermione were still sitting there.

"Yeah," nodded Hermione as she removed her cap and ruffled her hair a bit. "I almost don't want to go back to our apartment tomorrow."

"Which is why we should really enjoy the time we have left here while we can."

Hermione stood up. "Yes. Well, I'm going to go change. I think you soaked through the back of my shirt with that snow of yours."

"Well, stuff happens," Harry replied slyly. He had his shoulder shoved playfully by Hermione before she disappeared up the stairs. Once Harry was sure she was gone, he reached into his right coat pocket and pulled out a small black box that had a soft exterior. Harry opened the box to quickly examine what lay inside. After staring thoughtfully at the contents for a few seconds, he looked around at the setting, then back at the contents.

_Not just yet, _Harry thought to himself before closing the box and stuffing it back into the pocket. The time, mood and setting had to be just right. As he replaced the box, Harry caught a whiff of his clothes. They had the distinct and rather strong smell of having raced around outside. Kicking off his boots and resting them beside the fire, Harry decided to go upstairs and take a quick shower. Although, he ended up having to wait for Hermione to finish first.

About fifteen to twenty minutes later, Harry had returned downstairs dressed in a dark green sweater and jeans. When he set foot in the kitchen, he was met with two things. One, the sight of Hermione dressed in a cashmere red sweater and black pants while she and a few enchanted pots and pans stewed away at preparing dinner and two, the enticing aroma of a well-cooked meal.

As Harry came closer to Hermione, though, another scent invaded his nostrils. It was the smell of the perfume Harry had given Hermione as an early Christmas gift last week; it smelled like a mixture of flowers and strawberries. Smiling, Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist and nuzzled her neck, which lay underneath her curly hair. He could sense her pleasure at this.

"I'm famished," he whispered into her ear.

"It won't take much longer," Hermione said.

"No, you don't understand," Harry growled as he pulled her slightly closer. "What I'm hungry for is something else entirely."

Hermione turned herself around in his arms and placed hers around his neck. "Pace yourself, there, Mr. Potter. You can't have dessert first." She planted an enticing kiss on Harry's lips.

Harry kissed her back, many times. "You know," he muttered between each one, "you're not helping the situation. Especially when you're wearing that perfume."

"Once again, don't blame me, blame yourself." She found herself kissed senseless this time.

"Eeeevening." The sudden sly-sounding voice came from the right, where the dining table sat. Harry and Hermione stopped kissing and both turned their heads to see Marcus leaning casually against the table, smiling through his stubbly face with his arms folded across his chest. When he made eye contact with Harry and Hermione, Marcus gave them a wolfish wink.

Harry gave his superior a look that was a cross between a smile and an annoyed stare. "Marcus. Can we help you with something?"

"No," Marcus replied casually. "But can I help _you _with something? Champagne? Wine? Candlelight?" He swiped his wand through the air directly over the table, and all three of the items he had mentioned appeared there. "I see you're enjoying the cottage rather well."

"Yeah," Harry responded with just a touch of sarcasm. "And we'd enjoy it a lot _more _if we were alone."

"Not to worry, I just dropped by momentarily to pick up some papers." Marcus held up a manila folder. "Barnes needs the paperwork on that special assignment Ian went on recently. Seems I left it here when I came down for the weekend a while ago."

Ian was a fellow Auror of Harry's in the Ministry, as well as being part of Harry's team. The other members were Hermione and Ann Flynn. Barnes, on the other hand, was the current head of the Auror Division and ran it with a no-nonsense authority. In a way, Barnes reminded Harry of Severus Snape, sans the greasy hair and hateful attitude.

"Well, it looks like you found it," said Harry in what he hoped was a patient tone. "Now, I realize this is _your _cottage and everything, but this is Hermione's and my vacation. "

"Say no more," grinned Marcus as he tucked the folder underneath his left arm. "I'll get out of your rather messy hair. And if I don't see you two before you return to work, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Oh, and Harry, don't forget to use…you know." With that suggestive remark, Marcus winked roguishly one more time and Disapparated from the spot. Harry and Hermione were left shaking their heads in amusement.

"He's a real jokester, isn't he?" Hermione remarked cheekily.

"Oh, he's a _riot_," said Harry sarcastically. "You should see him when he's drunk."

"I _have_," Hermione reminded him. "Curiously, there's very little difference in his sense of humor then."

"Except when he tries to goose a few girls," Harry responded roughly.

"Relax, it was the Halloween party, and he thought I was someone else. After all, I had on a mask. You didn't have to jinx him."

"I know," nodded Harry. "It just made me feel better."

Hermione smiled lopsidedly at him right as the timer on the stove went off.

A few minutes later, Harry and Hermione were sitting at the candlelit table with plates of ham, potatoes, vegetables and glasses of either chilled pumpkin juice or wine spaced between them. Slow, yet rather romantic, Christmas music filtered through the speakers of a radio mounted on the kitchen counter. All of the Christmas decorations around them sparkled beautifully, giving the scene a majestic quality.

It was when Harry and Hermione had reached the dessert course of scrumptious apple pie and vanilla ice cream and after all regular topics of conversation had been exhausted that Harry noticed how silent his girlfriend was; something that was _very _unlike her. More specifically, she had abandoned her food and was gazing thoughtfully out of the window on her left. Not much could be seen through the glass, except for her own reflection.

"Hermione." That got her attention, and she looked back across the table at Harry. "Something wrong?"

Hermione held his gaze for a few seconds before shaking her head, but unconvincingly. "No, it's nothing. I just got to thinking."

"About…?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "We're on vacation. I shouldn't bring it up now." But a few more seconds under a pointed stare from Harry seemed to convince her otherwise. She sighed heavily. "Okay, then. We've been on the trail of The Brotherhood of the Black Serpent for six months now. We even have access to one of their own. Does it make _any sense _that we're still coming up empty?"

Now it was Harry's turn to be silent. The mention of their Brotherhood connection, Ron Weasley, hardened Harry's jaw and made him exhale deeply through his nostrils. It brought up emotions too troublesome and difficult to deal with, and Harry certainly didn't want to deal with them at a time like this. After all, Ron had seriously betrayed Harry and Hermione's friendship and trust with him when he had not only switched sides out of jealousy and rage, but also had a hand in the death of his own sister, Ginny.

"No," Harry answered finally. "No, it doesn't." And that happened to be a truthful answer. It really _didn't _make sense that the Division's continued interrogations of Ron in the last six months had yielded no results. Something wasn't right about that.

"Look," Hermione began, "I'm sorry I brought-"

"Don't worry about it," Harry cut in, a bit more forcefully than he would've liked. "Just…wait until we get back to the office to do that sort of thinking."

Hermione nodded and got up from her seat, walked around the table to come up behind Harry, and wrapped her arms around him soothingly. She kissed his cheek tenderly and rested her face in his shoulder.

Harry was grateful for the gesture and returned it by rubbing Hermione's arm and kissing her own cheek.

* * *

_The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him…_

_The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry's hand was still raised in the air._

"_He'll be all right," murmured Hermione._

_As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead._

"_I know he will."_

That was where the dream ended and Harry suddenly awoke.

It was the dream he had been having on and off for a little over two years now. Upon the dream's inception, the woman who always told Harry, "He'll be all right," as the train kept rounding the corner had always been Ginny. But in the past few months, ever since June when he and Hermione had gotten together, Hermione had taken Ginny's place as the mother of Harry's children. Also in the past months, Ron had disappeared completely from the dream. Harry wasn't sure how much truth lay in the dream, but he _was _sure that the prospect of starting a family with Hermione was something he wanted to make happen.

Harry, now on his back, moved his right arm along the bedspace beside him, but discovered it to be empty. Frowning, Harry lifted his head to see that Hermione's side of the bed was indeed empty, but the indentation her head had made in her pillow was still visible. The mattress itself was still warm.

It was then that Harry spotted the stream of light sneaking into the bedroom through the crack of the door, which was ajar. Seconds later, the light was extinguished, the door was pushed fully open and Hermione walked in, looking fully awake.

Harry also noted that, unlike him at the moment, Hermione was wearing clothes.

He retrieved his glasses from the bedside table and stared groggily at Hermione's moonlit form. "What time is it?" Harry asked thickly as he tried to fight off the allure of going back to sleep.

"4:30 in the morning," Hermione replied as she swept over to the dresser and pulled open one of the drawers. She then extracted a set of Harry's clothes. "Get dressed. As fast as you can," she added as she tossed them over to him.

Harry caught his clothes as he was straightening himself up. By now, he was becoming more alert. "What's going on?" he asked as he started pulling on the garments.

"Marcus sent a message by Floo Powder. I heard it because I was up getting a glass of water."

Harry stood up as he finished hitching up his pants. "What did he say?"

"There's been an incident at the Ministry. We're needed."


	4. Scorched, Slit & Stolen

CHAPTER THREE

**SCORCHED, SLIT & STOLEN**

Just like with Muggle Law Enforcement agencies, the Auror Office received notices about crime scenes at any hour of the day. So by this point in their careers, all it took for Harry and Hermione to get rejuvenated at 4:50 in the morning was a strong cup of coffee, one for each, and which they disposed of in a wastebasket to the right after the door of the lift had opened. They both breathed in deeply for preparation of seeing dead bodies and stepped as one out into the underground level of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division.

As they approached two middle-aged men with weary expressions on their faces and official blue Ministry robes adorning their bodies, Harry and Hermione reached into their coat pockets and extracted their Auror badges. The badges were shaped much like police ones, except they depicted what was meant to be a spell explosion over the city of London, though it looked more like a rising sun. The word "Auror" was engraved into the gold item directly in the center of the London skyline. Of course, Harry and Hermione showing identification was pointless, seeing as everybody in the Ministry knew who they were, but protocol was protocol.

The two Ministry officials nodded silently upon seeing the badges and the first used his wand to divide a shimmering red line of energy while the second handed Harry and Hermione two pairs of gloves. Harry and Hermione stopped in their tracks and slipped on the gloves before passing through the crime scene barrier. Once they had, specialized crime scene boots appeared over their sneakers and the red line reconnected by itself.

Harry clipped his badge to the right side of his fleece coat while Hermione did the same with her denim one. By this point, they had reached a second checkpoint, where two more Ministry employees held spraycans in their hands. Harry and Hermione, knowing the drill, held out their wands so they could be sprayed with the sterilizing agent. This was common procedure for magical crime scenes, as Aurors needed their wands to perform their job, but couldn't let outside elements that clung to their wands contaminate the scene. The mist that coated the wands would kill any traces of magic from outside that wouldn't mix well with those left behind at the crime scene.

The mist normally took a minute to come into effect, so as that happened, Harry inclined his head toward the nearest Ministry official.

"Any traces of biological elements in the air?" he asked.

The Ministry official shook his head. "A few quick sweeps turned up nothing."

Harry nodded and waited out the rest of the minute. Once it was over, he and Hermione made their way fully into the crime scene, which started at a seemingly abandoned desk. But a quick glance as they passed showed Harry and Hermione the dead body that was slumped against the wall. However, the thing Harry and Hermione particularly took notice of was the knife sticking out of the guard's chest.

"Overkill, apparently." The sound of Marcus's voice tore Harry's attention away from the body and onto his handler, who was standing in the open doorway in front of Harry and Hermione. "Traces of the Killing Curse were found on the poor bloke. Sorry to barge in on your holiday plans again, but there's a reason I called you down here," he added.

Harry, already in investigative mode, knelt down beside the body and fixed his eyes firmly on the knife and where it penetrated the flesh. "There's blood around the wound," he said, pointing out the dark and blotchy discoloration that encircled the blade.

"Which means the Killing Curse was cast after he was stabbed," concluded Hermione. She, too, crouched down to get a better look. "Someone obviously didn't want to risk him surviving. And judging from the placement of the wound, I'd say that could have been a possibility." The knife was embedded in the guard's stomach, mostly, and stomach wounds bleed out slowly, therefore making death more drawn out for the victim.

"Do we have a name on him?" Harry asked.

"Marty Butler, father of two," Marcus replied.

Harry straightened up and sighed. "Worst time of year for a murder."

"There's more inside," stated Marcus. "Come on."

Marcus guided Harry and Hermione through the large doorway and into the antechamber, where the Navy blue brick walls glowed a bit brighter due to makeshift floodlights shining down from the upper portions of the walls. Other Aurors, six in total, scanned the area for any subtle traces of evidence, their wands held out in front of them like flashlights.

Harry spotted the four bodies at the other end of the chamber, but started glancing around for the living ones he'd been expecting to see. "Where are Ian and Ann?" he inquired of Marcus. "I thought you called in my entire team."

"He did."

The new female voice made Harry and Hermione turn around to be met with the sight of Ian MacGregor and Ann Flynn, the other two members of Harry's Auror team. They were currently crouched on either side of yet another dead body, this one a bald man with red hair wrapped around his head just above his ears.

"I see you got a headstart," said Harry.

"Well, we _were _closer when the call came in," replied Ann as she tucked a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her left ear. "Anonymous tip, by the way, in case you were wondering."

"I.D. on this victim?" prompted Harry, kneeling down once more and fully taking charge as Team Leader.

"John Harris," Ian answered bluntly as he put a hand under his chin and stroked the thin collection of facial hair that just barely formed a goatee with the mustache on his lip. "Confirmed to have been a Recoverable working in the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. And only Recoverables can access this area down here. That's the vault where every successfully recovered artifact is kept for safekeeping." Ian pointed towards the open vault door behind the clump of the guards' bodies.

"So you're thinking this was an inside job," suggested Hermione.

"That's our first guess," conceded Ann. "But it's as far as we've gotten." She straightened up, brushed off her green jacket and held out a bag that contained a wand. "His wand."

"Was it used during the break-in?" asked Harry as he took the bag from Ann.

Ann shrugged. "Well, why don't we find out?" She gestured over at the bodies of the guards, and everybody made their way over to them.

Waiting for them there was a man with brown hair and in his mid-30's who wore robes of white and red. The man's name was Herbert, and he was the Auror Office's equivalent of a medical examiner. The only difference was Herbert had access to methods and tools that Muggles did not.

"Harry," Herbert greeted plainly as Harry and his team gathered around him. "This is a messy one." Herbert was on his knees in front of one of the bodies, his gloved hand pressing tenderly against the victim's bloodied neck and the gash that had killed him. "Painful way to go. The others all have the same wound."

Harry could only stomach the sight of a slashed throat for only so long. Even to experienced professionals, that kind of wound is one of the more gag-inducing ones. "Was it the work of a knife or a spell?"

"That's more _your _area of expertise, Harry. All I can tell you is I've determined all four of these murders to have taken place approximately five hours ago."

"Midnight," piped up Marcus. "That falls in line with when the tip came in."

"You _do _realize that was probably from one of the criminals themselves?" said Hermione.

Marcus nodded. "Makes sense, because this area has been virtually soundproofed to the levels upstairs."

"So whoever did this _wants _us on their trail," commented Ian dryly. "That's the most dangerous sort of criminal."

In the midst of all this, Harry had carefully removed Harris's wand from the bag and placed the tip of it against his own. "_Priori Incantatem_," he muttered.

From between the tips of the two wands emerged misty whisps of bluish smoke that swirled together until they formed a shapeless burst of light. Harry frowned and disconnected the wand tips, which vanquished the smoke.

"The last spell Harris performed was Expelliarmus," he sighed. "And Expelliarmus can't slit throats."

Herbert pulled his own wand from his pocket, ignited it in a neon green light and shone that light down upon the bloody wounds. As a result, the blood took on a black appearance, but there were blotches of white scattered about the stains.

Herbert glanced up at Harry. "And a knife can't leave behind traces of magic on whatever they cut."

Harry looked up from the dead bodies and regarded Marcus curiously. "I still don't see a reason why Hermione and I needed to come down here. What's so special about these murders that they required our team?"

"The answer you're looking for is in here."

Marcus guided Harry's team past the bodies and into the vault, where the light source was more orange due to the candles and torches hanging on the wall and from the ceiling. The light provided a view of a long line of tall shelves that seemed to stretch up all the way to the ceiling and all the way back to wherever the back wall may be. Not five steps away from the vault entrance was another lifeless body. It was a man whose eyes were frozen in a wide open state of shock and his mouth partially open as if he had died in the middle of gasping for air.

"Seven dead in total," Harry stated with aggression in his voice. "Already I'm not too fond of this case."

"Who is he?" asked Hermione.

"George Benfield." The deep male voice came from the right of Harry, and when he turned to discover its owner, Harry saw a tall and thin man with blond hair, blue eyes and an impossibly clean shaven face. "Another Recoverable who was under my employ."

"May I introduce Steven Anderson, the Head of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division," Marcus said cordially.

Harry eyed Anderson neutrally as Anderson stuck out his hand. After a few seconds, Harry shook it rather jerkily. "Usually when someone of importance shows up at a crime scene, it's to either protect certain interests or to cover their ass. So which is it for you?"

Anderson seemed unfazed by the question. "George Benfield was the current Key Master for the vault."

"Meaning?" asked Ann.

"He was the Recoverable tasked with maintaining the vault. Only he had the keys to it, and therefore, only he could access it. You see, the keys to the vault are designed rather curiously. They require a drop of the Key Master's blood in order for them to work. It's a preventive measure to make sure no thieves can get in, because the vault is impenetrable any other way."

"Except, of course, if Dark Wizards were to ever have the Key Master under duress," Ian said sarcastically.

"Sounds like you're in need of a better sense of security, Mr. Anderson," Hermione agreed, though her snide tone was more subdued.

Anderson merely stared levelly back at the Aurors as Harry posed his next question to Marcus.

"Is _this_ the reason you dragged us down here at five in the morning? Because if it is, what makes George Benfield's death stand out?"

Marcus, his face stoic, wordlessly got closer to Benfield's body and bent down beside the head. With his gloved fingers, he partially pulled back the collar of Benfield's cloak, revealing something on Benfield's neck. At first, it appeared to be a black tattoo, but closer inspection proved it to be something else. Rather than a tattoo, it was more of an engraving, or fresh scar. The scar was in the shape of a coiled up snake, its head sticking up as if poised to strike.

Veins bulged in Benfield's neck, communicating that the scar had just recently been made. In addition, those veins and Benfield's lips were the same color as the scar: black.

The sight of the scar made goosebumps pop up along Harry's arms.

"What would you say _that _is?" Marcus questioned.

"A black serpent," Harry replied, his eyes never leaving the scar. "And a calling card."

Herbert came closer to Benfield's body to get a better look. "The discolored veins and black lips could be signs of poisoning. I'll of course know more once I get the body back to my lab."

Hermione had her head cocked to one side as she observed the scar. "If this really is the work of The Brotherhood, then them claiming responsibility means they're done trying to maintain secrecy."

"Which isn't a good sign," said Harry. He was thinking back to when the Death Eaters had been emerging as a super power, and the idea of another group of Dark Witches and Wizards lashing out in the Magical community made an uneasy feeling lodge itself in his stomach.

"But _we _should try to keep the secrecy going," intoned Marcus as he stood up. "For all everybody else out there knows, there _is _no Brotherhood of the Black Serpent. Until the circumstances change, I think it best we keep it that way."

Harry gave a curt nod as he faced Anderson again. "Mr. Anderson, we're standing in the middle of your vault. So unless The Brotherhood needed a less obvious place to hide a body, I'm going to say they stole an artifact."

"And it would make things a whole lot easier for us if you can help us determine exactly _what _was taken," added Hermione as she gestured towards the long line of shelves.

Anderson nodded as he removed his wand from his robes. He aimed his wand in the general direction of the shelves before a burst of turquoise light flashed from its tip. The light landed on the floor, where it divided into at least ten separate lines to account for each row between shelves. Every one of those lines snaked into those rows, and a few seconds later, four of those lines turned red.

Harry looked back at Anderson, waiting for an explanation.

"Those are the aisles you want to investigate," clarified Anderson, indicating the aisles that had the red lines running through them. "Each artifact has a plaque underneath it with its name. Whatever's missing won't be any mystery."

Harry studied the red lines. "By the looks of it, The Brotherhood took more than one. _Lumos._" His wand flickered to life with a golden light. He turned around to see that Hermione, Ian and Ann had done the same. "Split up," Harry ordered, "and when you find an empty slot, call out."

The red-marked aisles were spaced evenly: the first on the left, then the third, fifth and seventh. Harry, Hermione, Ian and Ann claimed the aisles in that order.

As Harry walked along the first aisle, he discovered that the candlelight all around the vault wasn't enough to illuminate the rows of artifacts. So, Harry had to rely on the light coming from his wand to see what was sitting on the shelves. The first artifact that Harry's light came across was a glassy orb with an orange hue and a thin black line down its center. When Harry passed the orb, the black line followed his movement. The plaque underneath it read "The Dragon's Eye."

A few feet beyond that, something else caught Harry's eye. It was a wand, but not just any wand. It had circular patterns running all the way down it, but the thing that had made Harry stop to look at it was its nameplate: "The Wand of Gellert Grindelwald." Immediately, Harry knew who contributed to this particular item being stored in this vault and despite it's dark applications, Harry found himself in a temporary state of reverence as he stood in front of Grindelwald's wand. This was one of the few times within the past two years when he had been confronted with a reminder of Dumbledore's accomplishments.

Harry allowed himself a brief smile before moving on.

The red line stretched on just a bit further, and Harry continued to swipe his wand back and forth between the shelves on either side of him. He took notice of a silver statue a bit bigger than an action figure, but with no significant or identifying features. In fact, there was no face at all on the statue and the rest was just smooth, polished silver. Its plaque identified it as "The Imperio Doll." If Harry had looked to the opposite shelf at that time as well, he would've discovered the artifact that he himself had helped put it in the vault a few months ago: Excalibur.

Finally, Harry came to the end of the glowing red line, in what felt to be the dead center of the aisle. Harry concluded that the shelf on his right had nothing missing after a quick scan revealed no empty slots. So it was the left shelf that had an empty spot, and it was directly at Harry's eye level. He held his wand closer to the plaque to read what that slot was reserved for, but found that the nameplate had been blackened over. Harry leaned in close and took a quick sniff of the plaque, and recognized the stench of something that had recently been burnt.

The plaque had been scorched so as to hide the name of the stolen artifact.

"I've got something!" Harry called out, his voice echoing inside the vault.

"Me too!" came the sound of Hermione's voice.

Harry remembered that Hermione was two aisles away from him, and he Apparated there. He was now standing beside Hermione, who was looking at the left shelf, much like he had been earlier. Her wandlight revealed the same image of an empty slot and a burned plaque.

"That's two for two," said Harry. He and Hermione exchanged a worried look. "Ian! Ann!" he called out. "Get over here!"

Three seconds and two loud cracks later, the rest of Harry's team had joined them.

"Is this what you came across?" Harry asked as he nodded bluntly towards the slot and plaque.

"Yes," Ian and Ann replied simultaneously.

"How many?"

"One," Ian and Ann chorused again.

Harry sighed. "That makes four in total."

"Brilliant," Hermione muttered dryly.

Ian stepped closer to the plaque and traced a finger across its scorched surface. "Ironic, isn't it? Even though The Brotherhood has claimed responsibility for the crime, they're still taking the time to cover their tracks."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "They're taunting us. Let's get back to the front."

They all Apparated back to where Marcus, Anderson and Herbert were and filled them in on what they had discovered.

"Looks like you finally have that lead on The Brotherhood you've been after," commented Marcus after they had finished. "Obviously, since you've been heading up that investigation for the past few months, your team will take point on this one."

Harry nodded and addressed Anderson. "You must have an inventory list of all the artifacts stored in this vault." When Anderson silently confirmed this with a nod of his own, Harry went on. "Okay, then we'll need a copy of that list." He turned to Ian and Ann. "Once we get that, I want the two of you to assist in the search that I'm sure Mr. Anderson's men will perform to make sure nothing else has been tampered with. Crosscheck that list with what's still here. That way, we can find out what's been stolen."

"You got it," acquiesced Ann.

"But there's more," said Harry. "After you've found out what's been stolen, I need you to dig up whatever you can on those artifacts. Histories, capabilities and whatever else that could be deemed vital. If they're capable of anything significant when combined with each other, I need to know. We might be dealing with some kind of super weapon here."

"On it, boss," said Ian.

Harry grinned. "I told you…there's no need for formalities."

A low grumbling sound filled the air. Everybody looked around to discover its source, but Ian placing his hand over his stomach told them it was simply the sound of hunger.

"Before we start work on the case, Harry," Ann smiled as she shot Ian an amused expression, "maybe it'd be best if we get replenished."

Just then, Harry felt his stomach protest hungrily as well. After all, he had been up for at least half an hour now and he'd already drank coffee, so he needed something savory and solid to go with it.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We'll get some food, then start in on the case at sunrise." He glanced down at his watch and used his wandlight to read the time: 5:20 a.m.

The four Aurors began making their way back to the lift.

"I'll get Barnes up to speed on the situation," Marcus told Harry as he passed by.

Once Harry and his team had entered the lift and were on their way back up through the Ministry, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. After he had replaced his glasses, he glanced over at Ian.

"So…," he said conversationally, "did that special mission of yours go all right?"

Ian spread his arms slightly. "I'm standing here in one piece, aren't I?"

"That you are," said Harry as he and the others removed their gloves and crime scene boots.

For the past few weeks, Ian had been away on a special assignment that had been given to him by Liam Barnes himself. The assignment had been so secret, in fact, that not even Ian knew the details of it when he'd first received it. But seeing as how Liam Barnes was the current Head of the Auror Division and a man who didn't take kindly to getting no as an answer, Ian agreed to take the mission. He had only just gotten back a few days ago, but whether or not he'd been successful in whatever he was meant to do still remained a mystery to Harry, much like the purpose of the mission in the first place.

"And I don't suppose you can tell me what you _did _on that mission of yours?" Harry asked.

Ian shook his head. "Not until Barnes straightens out any loose ends, I'm afraid."

"Barnes," mused Harry airily. "Leave it to him to be particular about things like that."

A lingering silence filled the lift as it continued to take its passengers to the floor that held the Auror Offices. Ann glanced at the indicator as the hand steadily traveled through the floor numbers.

"So if Ian and I are handling the actual theft," she directed at Harry, "what will you and Hermione be doing?"

"Meeting with George Benfield's next of kin," replied Harry. "That way, we'll be able to determine if he was somehow involved with any mysterious people, people who might have benefitted from his death."

The lift came to a halt, the door of the lift slid open, and Harry and his team stepped out into the Offices of the Auror Division with a new case to work…and so close to Christmas.


	5. The Hard Part

**A/N: Here's Chapter 4. I'll start work on Chapter 5 ASAP, but with exams coming up, it may be a while before the next update.**

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CHAPTER FOUR

_**THE HARD PART**_

The early morning air was disturbed by a loud crack as Harry and Hermione Apparated into an alleyway between two brick buildings located on a bustling London city street. Various pieces of trash and discarded sheets of paper were sent skidding a few inches as a result of the couple's sudden appearance. Harry and Hermione checked themselves over and straightened out their clothes before coming to the end of the alleyway. They peeked out into the main street to make sure they hadn't attracted any attention before they peeled off into the crowd bustling along the sidewalk, blending in seamlessly.

Due to their close proximity to Muggles at the present time, Harry and Hermione were prohibited from speaking about the case as they moved with the flow. Around them, Muggles either were paying half-attention to newspapers clutched in their hands or chatting away on cell phones held against their ears. Every once in a while, Harry would notice a Muggle jerk their phone away from their ear and stare at it in confusion. Magic and technology didn't mix well, especially in an area with a large collection of magical traces, but in areas that were inhabited more by everyday Muggle technology, things were just prone to acting up, much like what was happening now.

Hermione noticed the "Walk" signal flashing up ahead, its red light even more pronounced under the day's grey skies and steady snowfall, and guided Harry towards it, weaving in and out of people along the way. The young witch and wizard walked ahead of the crowd crossing the street with them and veered to the left once on the other side. Here, fewer people populated the sidewalk.

"Benfield's house is right up here," said Harry, indicating the line of townhouses on his and Hermione's right. "2317 Kensington Street, right?"

"Yes," confirmed Hermione as she mentally recalled the address they'd found for the Benfields back at the office.

Harry sighed. "Seven days before Christmas, and here we have to tell a wife and her kids that their husband and father won't be there on Christmas morning to see their happy faces. It's not going to be easy."

Indeed, the houses beside them, as well as the streetlamps and power lines, were decorated with either glowing Christmas lights or golden tinsel. The decorations were made more soothing by the blanket of snow that covered every smooth surface and crunched beneath Harry's and Hermione's feet.

"It never is, no matter what time of year," Hermione replied as she interlaced her gloved fingers with Harry's. "But they need to know the truth. As do we."

Harry nodded, Hermione's gesture of comfort already warming him against the cold weather. He squeezed Hermione's hand and looked over at his girlfriend, tucking a stray strand of hair that was peeking out from underneath her cap behind her ear. Hermione always knew what to say to comfort him.

"Here we are," said Hermione, gazing up at a townhouse they had just come to. Harry and Hermione stopped in their tracks.

The townhouse was composed entirely of bricks. It was two stories, with a set of windows for each level. Strings of Christmas lights encircled each window while a warm light was filtering through the glass and landing on the snow outside. Through the right-hand downstairs window, Harry and Hermione could spot a lavishly decorates Christmas tree, with ornaments that sparkled beautifully. Harry and Hermione inhaled deeply and gave each other's hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go and climbing up the short stairway leading to the front door.

Harry looked sadly at Hermione. "Now comes the hard part." He stepped closer to the door and knocked three times.

From the other side of the door, there was the reply of a soft female voice. "Be there in a minute!"

Harry and Hermione waited patiently, yet with a sense of mounting unease. Finally, the door was opened and there stood a middle-aged woman with a slender figure and raven black hair that went past her shoulders. When her blue eyes settled on who was standing on her doorstep, Monica Benfield's curved face adopted a surprised expression.

"Harry Potter!" Monica exclaimed as she wiped her hands on an apron that was secured around her neck and waist. "Hermione Granger!" Monica held out both of her hands at the same time, and Harry and Hermione shook them politely. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Monica's eyes traveled down to the Auror badges clipped to Harry's and Hermione's coats, and her tone as well as her demeanor instantly changed. "What's happened?"

"Why don't we talk inside?" Hermione offered in a gentle tone.

Silently, Monica stepped to the left so that Harry and Hermione could come inside. Once they were, she closed the door behind them.

Harry and Hermione immediately found themselves standing on the far side of the living room, which was decked out in all sorts of holiday decorations. In addition to the tree, tiny statues of reindeer, Santas and nutcrackers lined the bookshelves like a sort of military line of soldiers protecting a stronghold. In this case, the statues were protecting the books occupying the shelves.

Elsewhere, presents sat under the three and a mixture of family photographs and Christmas decorations such as miniature villages filled the coffee table in front of the sofa and other, smaller tables positioned between other pieces of furniture.

"I'll go and get us some tea," said Monica as she walked down the hallway beside the living room.

"Mrs. Benfield, you don't have to-" Harry began, but stopped when he saw Monica was already out of the room.

With nothing else to do, Harry and Hermione removed their scarves, gloves and coats, placing them on the red sofa and sitting down there. They waited silently for a few moments until Monica returned, balancing a tray filled with cups and saucers. She carefully placed the tray down on the coffee table and pulled up a small rocking chair that had been angled beside the Christmas tree. She was now sitting opposite Harry and Hermione.

"Please." Monica gestured at the cups, which had tea in them giving off steam along with an inviting aroma.

Harry and Hermione reached out and took two of the cups and saucers. They touched the cups to their lips and blew slightly before draining them of the warm liquid. Harry and Hermione put the items back on the tray, where the cups were refilled with tea all by themselves.

"Very good, thank you," complimented Hermione. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

Monica, who had only taken a sip from her own cup, smiled gratefully and set hers back on the tray as well. She stared down at her hands. "My husband George once told me that if Aurors were to ever come by the house unexpectedly, it was either because he had accidentally done something illegal, or…because something bad had happened to him at work." Monica looked back up at Harry and Hermione, her eyes already welling with tears. "From your expressions, I'm guessing it's the second one."

Harry's face took on a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Benfield."

Monica choked down a sob and cleared her throat. "How?"

Harry and Hermione eased into the explanation of how they had found Monica's husband dead at the crime scene earlier that morning. As she listened, tears cascaded down Monica's cheeks, yet she kept her sobs stifled and controlled. However, her sniffles were wet and loud and soon after Harry and Hermione had finished describing what they had found, Harry conjured up a box of tissues, caught it in midair, and handed it to Monica. She took it with a nod of thanks, pulled out three tissues and blew her nose heavily.

It was a few minutes before Harry finally felt comfortable enough to talk again. "Mrs. Benfield, I have to ask this question." He paused, sharing a look with Hermione. "Would anybody have wanted your husband killed?"

Monica finished her current nose wipe and balled up the tissue. "No," she answered in a voice that was almost a whisper. She cleared her throat. "At least, no one that I know of. George was…," she smiled faintly, "…he was enormously considerate. He never started a fight, never engaged in any sort of conflict unless it was absolutely necessary."

"But…he was a Recoverable," remarked Hermione, somewhat nervously. "Surely, he must have-"

"He fought the good fights," Monica cut in sharply. "Only the ones worth fighting!" She exhaled heavily, shook her head briefly and looked at Hermione apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"You never thought you'd be talking about your husband in the past tense before either of you were old," Hermione finished for her.

Monica nodded.

"So," said Harry, "he didn't have any enemies. Then, was he involved in anything that may have cost him his life? Anything…_sensitive_? After all, he was the Key Master for the vault in the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. That meant he had access to every artifact in the vault. Were you or he approached by anybody suspicious lately?"

Monica stared at the ground in contemplation, searching her brain for answers. "I don't know. I mean, lately he _did _seem a bit on-edge about something. But he never said what it was."

"What was he doing that was so out of the ordinary for him?" Harry asked curiously, his investigative senses already latching onto the possible angle.

"Um…." Again, Monica let her eyes traverse the floor as a way of answering the question faster. "He was paranoid, more than anything else, jumping at the slightest thing. And George was always calm. He never let anything get to him. That's why it was so strange to see him like that."

Hermione leaned forward slightly in her seat. "Did he talk to you at all about what was bothering him?"

Suddenly, Monica's red eyes widened. "Wait a minute. For the past week, he'd been going on about having to get in contact with some of his old partners in the Magical Artifact Recovery Division. He seemed very intent on it."

Harry and Hermione perked up.

"Old partners?" Hermione paused momentarily, the hope of a new lead making its way into both her eyes and voice. "Do you know who he was talking about?"

"Yes," replied Monica.

A pen and a pad of paper appeared in Harry's hands. He clicked the pen and held it suspended over the paper. "We'll need their names, please."

Monica shut her eyes in concentration and furrowed her eyebrows. After a few moments, she reopened them sadly. "I'm sorry, I can't remember. I mean, it's been so long since they worked together last. I can see their faces, but their names….I might as well try remembering the dates of the medieval Goblin Invasions."

Harry stuffed the pen and paper in his pockets, masking his disappointment. "It's okay," he said softly. But really, it wasn't. However, his hopes were raised again by Monica's next words.

"Although…," she trailed off thoughtfully. "Yes. Yes, I have a picture that was taken of them a few years ago. I'm not sure where it is, and they'll look younger than they are now, but would it help you in your investigation?"

"Absolutely," confirmed Harry. "If you could find it and bring it by the Auror Office as soon as possible, it would be very helpful. Just tell them I told you to come and they'll escort you down." Harry reclaimed his pen and paper, wrote something on one of the pages, tore it off the pad and handed it to Monica. "And to avoid the possibility of somebody Polyjuicing you, I want you to give the Ministry guards this password. Memorize it."

On the paper, the word "Nargle" was scrawled. Monica nodded to show that she had committed it to memory, and then the paper floated out of her grasp and burst into a puff of smoke in the air between her, Harry and Hermione.

"Before we go," said Hermione, "we have one more question for you, Mrs. Benfield. Were you ever aware of the nature of any of the missions your husband and his partners went on as Recoverables? It might begin to give us a sense of _why _he was killed."

Monica sighed. "Miss Granger, as an employee of the Ministry, you should know that there are certain aspects of a job that should be kept within those walls. While I can't give you any specific details, I _can, _however, tell you why George was part of a team in the first place. Basically, the Head of the Magical Artifact Recovery Division at that time formed a group of his best Recoverables in order to find something that other Recoverables before them had died trying to find on their own. I never knew what they were meant to find, only that they were successful."

Harry and Hermione shared a look. "Do you remember the name of the Head of the Division at the time?" asked Harry.

Monica nodded eagerly. "Yes. I believe he still holds the title. Steven Anderson."

Again, Harry and Hermione glanced at each other significantly.

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Benfield," said Hermione. "I think we've learned all we needed to hear. Look for that photograph and bring it to us once you find it." She and Harry stood up and started putting their warm garments back on.

"What do I tell them?" asked Monica suddenly, her voice on the brink of cracking. "What do I tell my children when they come home from Hogwarts tomorrow to the news that their father won't be around not for just this Christmas, but every Christmas for the rest of their lives?"

Harry and Hermione, now all bundled up, regarded Monica with sympathetic eyes. Hermione turned to Harry, whose face had gone slack.

"Tell them the truth," he said in a soft tone. "Tell them that…even though the pain never goes away, eventually it becomes easier to deal with. Tell them that they still have a parent who loves them dearly, as well as memories of their father. People are how they're remembered, and your children are lucky to have made lasting memories with their father." Harry paused, bit his lip, and then cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Benfield. We'll get out of your hair now."

Harry and Hermione Disapparated out of Monica Benfield's living room and reappeared on the street corner outside. Once there, Hermione tenderly stroked Harry's arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

Harry kept his eyes focused on the busy streets filled with cars and pedestrians. "It's Christmas," he replied tonelessly. "This is a time where families should be brought together, not torn apart. Times like these make you remember who you've lost."

Hermione slipped her hand down into Harry's. "But also who you've gained," she reminded him. "Me, my parents, the Weasleys. Your parents would be happy that you've found people you _can _call family, and people who call you theirs."

Harry pulled Hermione to him for a deep, grateful kiss. When they broke apart, Harry smiled warmly at Hermione while lightly tracing his thumb down her cheek.

"You handled yourself brilliantly back there," he complimented her. "In fact, you've adapted to being an Auror _very _well."

Hermione smiled that crooked smile of hers that always made Harry's heart melt. "I learn from the best." She found herself kissed senseless by her boyfriend, who channeled as much energy into the kiss as he could.

As their lips were locked in passion, a large truck drove by and splashed up a large amount of slushy snow. But Harry and Hermione had already Disapparated from the spot before the snow could touch them.

* * *

The Auror Office was abuzz with activity. Most Aurors were wrapping up last-minute details on recent cases, so the main floor which was divided up into different bullpens where different teams could conduct parts of their investigations was filled with people walking to and fro. Memos in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed around through the air, some of them bouncing off the glass walls of The Situation Room on floor level and the tinted glass windows of Liam Barnes's office directly above it. A few of the memos even managed to avoid the Christmas decorations, such as lights, tinsel and wreaths, which were suspended from the ceiling. A large Christmas tree stood in front of all the bullpens, a few steps away from the main entrance.

One of the memo airplanes flew very close by Ann's head, just missing her as she walked the distance between Ian's desk and hers in the center bullpen, the bullpen belonging to Harry and his team. Ian was hunched over his desk, intently studying a mass of papers scattered before him. Ann added to the mess by placing the piece of paper currently in her hand on top of Ian's. It was part of the inventory.

"I've found two artifacts unaccounted for," Ann informed him, pointing out the items in question on the list made before the break-in. "The Gateway Belt and The Pyranic Glove."

"Same results here," replied Ian as he extracted a piece of paper from the collage on his desk. "Two more missing artifacts…no official names for them, but the Division called them The Serpent-Tongued Key and The Snakeskin Sword."

Ann walked behind Ian's chair so that she could read the other half of the inventory over his shoulder. "Seems to fit in line with The Brotherhood's sensibilities. Did you find a description of their capabilities?"

Ian held the inventory closer. The inventory was a piece of parchment with collected artifacts sorted into a list on the left, the names of the agent who recovered the artifact in the center, and a brief description of the artifact's power on the right. "Well, the Key is exactly that…just a key with curious markings across it that keeps it from fitting into any regular keyhole. However, the blade of The Snakeskin Sword is said to have poisonous venom melded into its blade, and the hilt is made out of basilisk skin. It sounds like quite a weapon, but I can't see any connection it might have to the Key. How about yours?"

"The Belt and Glove don't share any similarities, either, and neither do their powers. This is quite the mystery. What would The Brotherhood want with these?" Ann crossed back in front of Ian's desk.

"That's what we're here to find out." Ian leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes exasperatedly. "Taking a case so close to Christmas…good thing I didn't make any holiday plans."

"You didn't?" Ann asked, her voice rising in curiosity.

"Yeah, with that whole mission Barnes sent me on, I didn't know for sure when I'd be back. Just as well, seeing as how my family isn't exactly the type to spend time with." Ian looked over at a photograph on his desk, away from the papers. It was of a woman with brown, curly hair and a wide smile.

Ann regarded the photograph soberly. "You don't talk about your mother much."

"Because it's a tough subject." Ian crossed his arms in front of him and stared at the picture as well. "After all, the fire happened around this time a few years ago when I graduated from Hogwarts. It's not much of a Christmas when your mother dies in a house fire a week before and the rest of your family goes into a downward spiral of depression because they felt guilty for going out that night and leaving her alone to do some baking over a faulty stove. The fire killed her before any magic could prevent it. I seem to be the only one in my family able to accept that." Ian fingered his mother's picture, which had not aged well and was looking crackly and decayed. "I really should have this restored."

Ann waited a few moments to speak again, the stretch of silence before that almost insufferable. "My family is traveling out of country to be with relatives over in America. I told them I couldn't come because of the case. So neither of us have plans a week from now."

Ian glanced up at her neutrally. "Is that an invitation?"

Ann shrugged. "More like an offer. A week from now, if the case is still going and we get Christmas off, what do you say to us getting together and doing something?"

Ian arched an eyebrow. "Just us? Not Harry and Hermione, too?"

Ann gave Ian an amused smirk. "If you remember, Harry has already made some rather _special _plans for him and Hermione on Christmas Eve."

Ian nodded as a smirk of his own crept across his face. "Ah, yes." He gazed thoughtfully at Ann, clearly considering her offer. "We haven't done that much together outside of work," he said finally, "so I suppose now's as good a time as ever to fix that. Say, my place for dinner, Christmas Eve?"

"Perfect," smiled Ann. "It's a date."

"_What's _a date?" asked Harry as he and Hermione trudged into the bullpen while slipping their scarves off of their necks. They each made their way over to their desks, which were positioned much like Ian's and Ann's on the opposite side of the enclosed work area; that being directly across from each other. Harry had his desk next to Ann's, with some space in between them, while Hermione shared the right side of the bullpen with Ian.

"Oh," said Ian airily, "Ann and I were just making Christmas arrangements." Ian furrowed his eyebrows and looked from where his team members had just come from to where they were now. "By the way, Harry, how do you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Do what?"

Ian sighed while he began organizing the papers on his desk. "Never mind."

"The two of you are going on a _date_?" Hermione inquired as she shot Ian and Ann a sly expression.

"More like a casual dinner between friends," Ann replied evasively as she turned away slightly from Ian. This made Hermione's sly look turn into one of amusement.

"So if the two of you have time to make Christmas plans, I take it you found something important?" Harry asked pointedly as he stepped out into the bullpen. Hermione joined him.

"Yes," Ian and Ann answered simultaneously. Ann took the lead as Ian pushed his chair out from his desk. "Between the two of us, Ian and I found there to be four missing artifacts. The first two are The Gateway Belt and The Pyranic Glove." Ann handed her piece of the inventory to Harry, who immediately began reading down the list. "The Glove was invented by a dragon trainer named Ilea Krindelow. He fashioned it out of material able to withstand any type of fire, but he also inlaid it with enchantments that gave it the ability to create its own fire at the will of its wearer. The Gateway Belt is more old-fashioned. It was created during the early years of magic, before Apparation was perfected and can transport whoever wears it to anywhere in the world. The catch is, the Belt is designed so that the movements of the wearer are untraceable."

"So whoever wears the Belt can go anywhere they want without the worry of the Apparating traces the Ministry has over everybody in the magical community," said Harry, catching on as he turned the inventory back toward Ann. "And look who was the Recoverable who got the Belt…our dead man, George Benfield."

Ann glanced down the inventory yet again. "Yes, but the names of the Recoverables who acquired the other artifacts aren't even listed. So either someone has bad record-keeping skills or -"

"The Brotherhood is making sure to cover their tracks," Hermione finished for her. She turned to Ian. "What about you?"

Ian explained his findings to Harry and Hermione, going on to say that neither he nor Ann had come across any possible way the four artifacts linked together. "We've looked at it from every angle," he said. "These artifacts couldn't be more different."

By now, Harry was seated at his desk. "Hermione and I talked to Monica Benfield. She said her husband was acting strange recently, and going on about needing to speak with former partners of his in the Division. She also said that they formed a team a while back, to find something." Harry paused thoughtfully as the rest of his team gathered around his desk. "Now I'm thinking it was more than one something."

"Steven Anderson was the one who organized the group," said Hermione, positioning her right elbow on top of her left hand and stroking her chin. "He must know a lot about these artifacts, only he isn't letting on about it."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"So," said Ian, "the big question now is why would The Brotherhood want four seemingly unrelated magical artifacts?"

"And what are they planning on using them for?" added Harry, his eyes darkening.


End file.
